


Hope in a Hopeless Place

by captive_hetalian



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/F, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, and some backstory bits, but nothing happens in ch 1, lore and backstory will likely diverge from canon as series updates, originally planned for this to be a oneshot, rating is for violence not smut, since it's all story set-up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 07:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21406180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captive_hetalian/pseuds/captive_hetalian
Summary: Vaggie has woken up in hell and is found by a demon with a crazy proposition.
Relationships: Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	Hope in a Hopeless Place

Vaggie woke up still clutching where her eye had been seconds earlier. She didn’t realize she was still screaming until small hands shook her and Vaggie was suddenly on her feet and one hand pushing a person’s bony shoulder to the ground and other hand grasped around…

Air.

Her knives were gone.

“¿_ Que… _?”

Her sheathes and boots were gone.

Even her clothes were gone.

She was totally naked.

“_ Dios _,” she whispered, hands starting to shake as she finally started to take in the person—demon—she was pinning to the floor.

Screaming, Vaggie scrambled back, then jumped up to her feet, hands curling into tight fists as she scowled. Her good eye narrowed as blood continued to flow from the empty socket of her other eye, making her bleached hair stick to her narrow face.

The demon got up slowly, showing no fear and even having the audacity to smile at Vaggie. This made her scowl deepen, and her whole body shook as fear transformed into rage.

How _ dare _this Hell-spawn make her feel weak?!

Vaggie hadn’t gotten where she was, hadn’t become who she was, just for this fucker to turn her back into that trembling girl unable to do anything but watch as her best friend was slaughtered right in front of her.

The demon spoke in a guttural language that made Vaggie’s ears burn. It continued smiling, accenting the stupid red-pink circles painted onto its cheeks. The rest of the demon’s skin was white, pure white, moonlight on snowfall white. The sclera of its eyes were bright red, and yellow irises surrounded cat-like pupils. Horns grew up from its temples, curving back slightly and starting off white but then fading into burgundy.

Pretty weak-sauce for a demon, and the stupid circles on its cheeks made it look cartoonish. Like that stupid puppet in that animatronics video game that came out last month.

It made Vaggie hate the demon more, and she rushed forward, fist flying through the demon’s long, honey-blond hair—the kind of blond Vaggie wanted when the too-stupid-to-breathe stylist fried her hair.

Vaggie would make this demon bleed the way she’d made that bastard bleed.

The guttural language sputtered out of the demon’s mouth, its hands coming up in a defensive motion and its eyes wide.

Yeah, not so tough now, eh?

Vaggie lunged forward again, but she missed again, not even touching the demon’s long hair this time. It was longer than Vaggie’s and styled in springy curls that looked almost human. And that just pissed her off even more.

The next thing Vaggie knew, she was on her hands and knees, heaving as she struggled to catch a breath. Her windpipe was cold, like she’d been breathing ice, but her lungs felt as though they were on fire. The area around her missing eye throbbed and burned and pulsed with lightning-strike-like pain that shot through the rest of her body.

She collapsed onto her side and curled up, trembling and crying and wheezing and clawing at the dry soil beneath her.

The feeling of her body being set aflame shoved Vaggie back into consciousness.

“Ah!” something hissed to Vaggie’s right, but all she could think of was the pain.

Her body seized. Her mouth widened, full lips formed around a scream that wouldn’t come. Her good eye was squeezed shut, hot tears leaking out of its corner.

Then, all at once, the burning was gone, and Vaggie gasped for breath and sat up, coming face-to-face with a small, goat-like demon with black-and-red horns and pink-red hair. Like that first demon, it had circles painted on its cheeks, but this thing didn’t smile. Its eyes, yellow sclera and red irises, were so big that it looked like they took up all the space in its skull. It muttered, the sounds sounding like “ah” or “oh.”

It then hopped off the bed—Vaggie was in a bed? How?—and scampered out of the spacious room, its black hooves _ tap, tap, tapping _ along the white marble floor as it went. There was a doggy door in the gold and ivory door, comically shaped in order to accommodate the thing’s horns.

Demons had pets. Sure.

Drawing in deep breaths, Vaggie looked around the room, starting with the king-sized bed she was sitting in. The mattress was soft, and a thick comforter covered her legs, which Vaggie threw off. Translucent pink netting surrounded the canopy bed, and to the right was a pillow-filled bay window, with some books sitting in a pile on the floor by it. Vaggie recognized _ City of Heavenly Fire _; her little sister was obsessed with those books.

Behind Vaggie were bookshelves built into the wall above the headboard, full of books in numerous languages. A row of books on the bottom shelf caught Vaggie’s eye, and laughter burst out of her as she leaned over her knees, which were pulled up to her chest.

Bibles! There were goddamned Bibles in a demon’s room!

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” said someone, and Vaggie froze, laughter dying on her tongue.

The demon from before stood by the door, hands behind its back. The horns were gone, and while the sclera of their eyes was still yellow, their irises were so dark that they looked black. Her long hair was tied back, the scrunchie only inches away from the ends, like how an anime character might style their hair.

Silence stretched and stagnated, wilting the demon’s doll-like smile.

It bounced back in seconds, though, and while the demon was too far away for Vaggie to even attempt shaking its hand, it stuck it out to hang in the air, bending forward at the same time.

“I’m Charlotte!” it said with way too much glee. “But I started going by Charlie. I tried Lottie for a while and even Char, but too many people called me Cher or Charmander, which I guess I don’t mind the last one, but I personally like Skitty or Vulpix more, but Jirachi is really cute, too! And how neat would that be to just grant people’s wishes for seven days! Though sleeping for a thousand years could have its downsides…”

Its—her?—eyes widened, and she clasped her hands behind her back again as her gaze dropped to her feet.

“Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous,” she muttered, voice so low that Vaggie could barely hear her.

“Nervous,” Vaggie echoed, tone deadpan.

Chuckling, Charlie nodded. She opened her mouth to say something when a cacophony of high-pitched ringing tore through the air and sent Vaggie into a seizure-like state as she clawed at her ears, mouth wide open and a scream getting caught in her throat.

“Coming!” Charlie called back, and she jumped when Vaggie leapt away from her touch. Charlie’s shoulders slumped, eyes showing hurt, but she plastered on a smile (this one smaller than before). “Sorry, my dad doesn’t know you’re here, so he’s not bothering to switch to the common language here. Please don’t leave this room, and please don’t freak out. Razzle and Dazzle”—the goat-like demon from earlier appeared at the foot of the bed next to its twin—“will keep you company and make sure no one comes into the room. Feel free to read, or I have some DVDs and a player in the bottom drawer of my desk, if I’m gone for a while. The books are organized by language, see you in a bit!”

Charlie disappeared in a cloud of pink-red smoke that dissipated within moments, Vaggie staring where the demon had been standing. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring, but when one of the goat-like demons—she couldn’t tell which one was supposed to be Razzle and which one Dazzle—cleared its throat, Vaggie jumped out of the bed.

She was still naked—at least Charlie hadn’t tried dressing her; bringing her to her bedroom was weird enough—but there were three mannequins the goat twins were now presenting, while one was munching on a donut that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Each mannequin wore a different outfit. One wore a boring solid black T-shirt with torn jeans. One wore a corset-style crop top with sheer, puffy sleeves and a black leather mini skirt with fishnet stockings. The third mannequin wore a pastel pink, blue, and purple sleeveless crop top, the colors blending like a galaxy-type painting. The neckline was black, and there were black outlines of pentagrams, cat heads, Ouija planchettes, luna moths, and moons. It also wore a high-waisted black-and-white Ouija board skirt.

Vaggie took the pastel goth top and the leather miniskirt and fishnets. There were no shoes or underwear, but the stockings were opaque enough up there to cover what needed to be covered, anyway. She had other worries besides finding a bra.

As she got dressed, though, Vaggie noticed that her hair was much lighter. It had been dark pink before, to cover up the botched bleach job that bastard had given her, but now her hair was silvery-white. The ends were pink, but it was pastel pink, a thin stripe of the same color a few centimeters above the top of the colored tips.

That was when she finally realized the length, lifting a lock and pulling her hand down it. The strands no longer felt damaged; her hair felt soft, even. But it was _ so _ much longer than it had been before. She used to have dead and split ends falling to the middle of her back, but now her hair fell to her knees.

Vaggie then noticed her hands and arms and legs. Her skin was more of an ash brown, not the sienna brown she remembered.

Her hands flew to her head, and Vaggie almost collapsed in relief when she didn’t feel any horns. She spotted a vanity by a door at the far end of the room, though and rushed over as Razzle and Dazzle chattered nervously amongst themselves.

Vaggie froze in front of the mirror, hands clutching the edge of the dresser as her knees threatened to give way. Her lashes, white as her eyebrows and her hair, were longer than any falsies she’d ever glued on, and the sclera of her good eye was _ pink. _Pink like a cheesy Valentine’s Day card, pink like her room before she attacked the walls with black paint while her mom was at work.

Tears burned her eye when she finally took in the pale yellow iris. She’d never loved her dark brown eyes more than now, when they were gone, one gouged out and the other… _ this _.

“I’m….” She didn’t want to say it. She _ wouldn’t _ say it.

But her damned brain conjured images anyway, and Vaggie sunk down to the cold floor, staring at nothing as tears and blood streaked down her cheeks.

Vaggie imagined her mother crying at her funeral, screaming and unable to remain on her feet. Vaggie imagined her having to be dragged away before she could throw herself onto the coffin, begging with the God that damned her eldest daughter to Hell to bring her back.

Shaking with a mix of sorrow, shame, and rage, Vaggie drew in shaky breaths, her shoulder blades burning. She gasped and lurched forward, hitting her head on the dresser. A string of oaths fell out of her mouth, and she stood on shaky legs as she looked to either side of her. She… felt… something. Somethings.

Wings. They glowed softly from within. They looked like luna moth wings, but they were silvery-white and pale pink. Vaggie lifted them, watching as silver dust fell to the ground.

There was a gasp, and Vaggie whirled around, jumping when the wings disappeared. Her back now felt cold, and she shivered.

Her back was suddenly against the dresser as her hands pressed against the top to keep herself upright as Charlie held her by the shoulders.

“You have wings!” she whispered excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh my gosh, that’s great! Oops, sorry.” She let go and stepped back to give Vaggie breathing room. “You’re a moth demon, though, not a bird demon, but maybe… Do you think you can make your wings appear again? And try to fly?”

“I don’t even know—oh don’t you fucking dare tell me to be quiet!” Vaggie was shaking again, all her earlier sorrow and shame gone and leaving only anger.

“Please, my parents don’t know you’re here,” Charlie pleaded, hands up in a prayer-like motion that gave Vaggie pause. “My mom _ just _ laid on the charm on my dad and got me out of trouble about my latest ‘project,’ but if they find out I rescued a low demon right before the extermination, she won’t step in this—”

“Low demon?” Vaggie’s brain still spun, and her heart still pounded from the acknowledgement of her fear that yes, she was a demon now.

But moth demon? Bird demons? Low demon? What the fuck?!

And what was so special about her having wings? Wasn’t that just a demon thing? Most drawings Vaggie saw of demons showed them with bat-like wings or black bird-like wings.

Fingertips drumming along each other, Charlie took a breath. “Low demons are humans who became demons after being sent here. To Hell.”

She winced and looked up slowly, as though expecting Vaggie being too stupid to have figured out where she was already.

Instead of her body spiking with rage again at such an insult, though, Vaggie only glared and crossed her arms. She even tapped her foot to push through the message, and Charlie nodded.

“‘Yeah, I figured it out, move on already,’” she chuckled nervously. “Got it. Um… anyway. They’re usually also just called Sinners, too. High demons, or Fallen Ones, are the demons that started out as angels but got banished to here after my dad’s rebellion.”

Vaggie stopped tapping her foot, and her glare switched to a dumbfounded expression.

The Devil was this girl’s father, the one who pterodactyl screeched earlier and nearly made Vaggie deaf.

“Your. Dad’s—”

Charlie continued quickly, “And also demons born from at least one Fallen One, like me.” She chuckled nervously again. “There aren’t many of us, the kids that is, though. You might see Helsa around once in a while if you’re allowed to stay…, if you want to….”

“What are the exterminations?” Vaggie asked, voice toneless.

Swallowing audibly, Charlie met Vaggie’s gaze again, her eyes filled with both pain and determination.

“Hell is overpopulated,” she explained. “It’s been overpopulated for a long time, so yearly exterminations have been happening to… _ cull _the population.”

She spat out the word, her teeth lengthening and growing sharper as she spoke.

This time, Vaggie tried to take a step back, but the dresser stopped her. Charlie didn’t seem to notice, her eyes dropping to the ground again as her muscles tensed and her fists shook at her sides. Her eyes turned shiny with tears, but her horns were growing, and her sclera glowed red.

“My people are being _ slaughtered _ , just because we don’t have room for everyone! We _ need _ to do something, something other than the exterminations. Even my dad knows that, but…”

Her shoulders slumped, like the anger had sopped her of energy, but the horns and sharp teeth stayed.

“He wants to expand Hell.” Charlie’s voice was hollow. “That’s why me and the other kids were born at the same time, why the choices behind who the high demons had kids with… They were partnered up for… genes, I guess? Abilities?” Charlie stared at her palms, as though the lines held the answers she wanted. “But my dad never learned he isn’t—”

The last word sent Vaggie to the ground as she clutched her ears, and Charlie sputtered apology after apology as she helped her up.

“The fuck was that?” Vaggie demanded, pushing Charlie away.

Hugging herself and nodding, Charlie replied, “Sorry, I forgot Hell’s language doesn’t have a word for any of His names, so I slipped up and said it in Enochian, the angel’s language. Other than the Fallen Ones, I’m the only one that can speak it. Even my mom can’t. She can only understand it and listen to it without being in pain.”

“Hell’s language,” Vaggie deadpanned. She was getting pissed all over again.

“Humans speak a ton of different languages,” Charlie explained, “but down here, after transforming into demons, you guys end up only speaking Hell’s language. That’s why you can understand me now when you couldn’t after we first met.”

That guttural language from earlier. Vaggie only vaguely recalled the encounter.

“If you don’t want us killed, which… thanks for not leaving me to that... I guess.” Vaggie ignored the huge smile on Charlie’s face.

Her whole face lit up, and Vaggie had to concentrate in order to keep herself from smiling in return. She still didn’t trust this girl, couldn’t. She was the damn daughter of Lucifer himself, for crying out loud!

But she seemed to want to help, and Vaggie wanted to live.

Even though she was already dead.

Where did the slaughtered demons even go? Or did they simply disappear forever, souls obliterated?

Vaggie’s head hurt, but her heart thudded at the thought of complete non-existence.

She couldn’t fathom it, and that scared her. Even in Hell, she’d rather live.

“And you don’t want Hell expanded,” Vaggie continued, “so two questions: What’s so special about me having wings, and what do _ you _ plan?”

“Those questions are actually connected!” Charlie clapped, still grinning. “Okay, so few low demons get wings, but those that do are usually ‘less bad.’ Or, the bad things they did were tied to justice in some way, or at least some of them. I’ve been trying to keep up with the winged low demons I could find, but so far, all of them had been bird demons of some kind. And for all of them, one day, they vanished. Everyone said they’d got caught in a gang war or an extermination, but I _ could not _ find evidence of their deaths.”

“So… what?” Vaggie had a feeling she knew where Charlie was going with this, but she refused to believe.

She’d hurt too many people, out of letting her anger get the better of her.

The blood she’d spilled when she was killed, though, was out of justice. That bastard had killed her friend, the sweetest girl in the world who had dreamed of helping children like her and her siblings, who were in bad homes and struggling to get to and stay in school.

He had deserved to die, and even seeing where she’d ended up, Vaggie would do it again.

“I think Sinners can be redeemed,” Charlie whispered, eyes wide and filled with hope and determination. “I think that’s what happened to those other winged demons, and I want to help. To make a halfway sort of house for demons who want to do better to live and work on themselves.”

“And if they don’t want to?”

Charlie’s expression set, her determination making Vaggie lean back and swallow.

“There _ has _ to be demons who want to change,” Charlie asserted, “and others will see them and see the change and see them _ ascend _…, and their hope will bring them to the halfway house—a hotel maybe!—to do the same. I just need to get it started. Will you help? There’s nothing to lose, right?”

Staring at Charlie, Vaggie tried to think, but all she could visualize was rising to Heaven and meeting Yesenia again.

Vaggie nodded once. “Okay. I’ll help. Where do we start?”


End file.
